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Red Roses
Monday, May 2
“One more lap to go!” Carole called out as she and Vivian reached the deep end of her swimming pool. “Catch me if you can!” And she swam off.
Vivian took a deep breath, planted the bottoms of her feet against the side of the pool, and gave herself a good push using every bit of leg strength she had. She started swimming the breaststroke but switched to the front crawl, her fastest style, determined to beat Carole, for once. After twenty-nine laps, the two of them were nearly neck-in-neck heading into the shallow end, but after another ten seconds, Carole reached up and grabbed the edge of the pool just moments before Vivian.
“Rats! One of these days, Carole...” Vivian choked out as she leaned over the edge, trying to catch her breath while laughing at the same time.
Carole patted her on the back. “You’re damn good, Viv, and you almost beat me this time. When you do, I’ll give you one of my swimming trophies to take home with you. Come on, let’s have some lemonade and dry off.” They both lifted themselves out of the water, and Carole led the way to the patio table under the umbrella.
Vivian met Carole six years ago when she first moved to Los Angeles and worked for the costume designer at Paramount Pictures. Carole was filming the movie, No Man of Her Own, with Clark Gable. Surprisingly, Vivian and Carole became instant friends despite their personality differences or, perhaps, because of it. Vivian was new to the area, quieter, and preferred keeping a low profile. Carole, on the other hand, was outgoing, witty, and honest to a fault.
At the time, they were both twenty-four years old, and Carole not only introduced her to many influential people, but she also encouraged Vivian to open her fashion boutique right around the corner from Carole’s home in Beverly Hills.
After Vivian threw her terrycloth robe on, she fell into the chair and smiled seeing Bella, her six-month-old Boston Terrier, and Carole’s two-year-old dachshund, Tricksy, stretched out and sleeping together on a soft blanket under their own miniature umbrella stuck into the ground next to the table.
“I stopped by to see you and take a break from work, Carole,” Vivian told her. “Now I’m exhausted!”
“Competition is good for the soul, and we always have a ton of fun. Right now, I’m the queen of the pool. You’re tops in tennis, and we’re even-steven in volleyball. Remember the time we played volleyball against my two brothers, and we won four out of five games? Charlie quit and refused to play with us anymore.”
“Poor Charlie,” Vivian snickered. “In his defense, he’d never played the game before.”
“Even so, he should have been a better sport about it.” Carole poured them both a glass of lemonade from the pitcher. “The story about Elliott Kimball made the front page of the Los Angeles Times.” She slid the newspaper over to Vivian. “I’m mad at you for going to Bunker Hill without me. That’s a dangerous place now. I don’t know what you were thinking.”
“I didn’t want to put you in the middle of it.”
“Why the hell not? You were there for me when Russ was killed four years ago. The two situations aren’t that different, you know. I still don’t think Russ’ death was an accident. Before he picked me up for dinner, he stopped over at his good friend Lansing’s house, and he wound up dead. Lansing claims he was absentmindedly fooling around with one of his firearms when it suddenly went off. Who on earth absentmindedly fools around with any gun?”
“I’m sorry you had to go through that, Carole. Russ was such a talented man. He wrote so many beautiful ballads.”
“Well, it’s in the past. My point is, I know what you’re going through, and I give you great credit for trying so hard to find the culprit. Next time, please promise me that you’ll tell me everything and include me in it instead of going off on your own.”
“I promise, but a lot of good it did me. I was tracking the wrong man.” Vivian skimmed through the newspaper article. “Oh dear, the officer in the unmarked car died.”
“They also closed George’s case, Viv. You need to tell the police about what you saw.”
“What’s the point?” She set the newspaper down and sipped her drink. “They weren’t willing to search for Kimball when they had plenty of evidence for a conviction. If I told them that he didn’t kill George, I doubt they’d be willing to start from scratch looking for who did.”
“It’s possible that Elliott Kimball was guilty. Maybe he was able to use his right and left hands equally. My mother was born left-handed, but my grandmother forced her to use her right hand growing up. To this day, she can use both hands interchangeably.”
Vivian didn’t buy that theory for a second, but she didn’t want to talk about it anymore. On top of everything else, she felt partly responsible for the officer’s death since she had alerted the police to Elliott Kimball’s whereabouts. “I heard from Becca last night. She’s having such a wonderful visit with her grandparents in Dallas.”
“You mean, Rebecca,” Carole chuckled. “Doesn’t Ruth hate it when people refer to her by her nickname?”
“Yes, I can’t tell you how many times she’s had to correct me.”
“I find it strange that Ruth let her travel so far on a train by herself. She’s only twelve years old, isn’t she?”
Vivian smiled, thinking about her stepdaughter. “Becca didn’t seem to mind. Her father’s death hit her very hard, and I think the change of scenery is doing her some good. We’re going to spend a day together when she gets home if Ruth permits it.”
“I don’t understand why Ruth gives you such a hard time. She was the one who filed for divorce and pushed it through long before you came into the picture.”
“I’m sure it’s because George and I were only married for a short time, and now that he’s gone, she doesn’t think I should have anything to do with her daughter.”
They heard a car door shut, and Carole slid back into her seat. “You’ll never guess who invited I over for tea.”
“Who?”
“Louella Parsons, the gossip columnist queen. She’s dying to know the status of my relationship with Clark and has been driving us both nuts. She planted informants everywhere, in the studios, my hair salon, and even our doctors’ offices, so I finally relented. I told Clark to steer clear until she left. I figured the best way to get her off our backs was to confront her directly.”
“Be careful, Carole. Remember what happened to Mary Pickford? She let it slip to Louella that she and Douglas Fairbanks were contemplating divorce. Louella promised to keep it to herself, but the very next day, the news spread like wildfire.”
“I know, but years ago my mother asked Louella to set up a screen test for me with Fox Film, and I nabbed the contract with them. The witch has never let my mother forget that we owe her a favor. So, I plan on giving her a nice, juicy scoop, but it won’t be the one she’s expecting.”
“Whatever you say to her, please try to curb your tongue. It won’t do your wholesome image any good if she includes some of your foul language in her column.”
“To hell with my image!” Carole spat. “Maybe a little profanity will chase her away.”
“That’s got to be my little sister cursing like a sailor again,” John laughed as he approached them. He leaned down and kissed Carole on the forehead. “Who’s the brunt of your wrath this time?”
“Luckily, not me,” Vivian chuckled. “How are you, John?”
“It’s good to see you again, Vivian. I didn’t see your car out front.”
“I told her to park in the carport,” Carole said. “That way, she can make a quick getaway when Louella Parsons arrives.”
“Louella is coming here? So, that’s who you were talking about. Then I gather Clark isn’t around. I wanted to see if he was free to play a round of golf tomorrow.”
“He’ll be home in a couple of hours, John. I’m sure he’d love to.”
Vivian stood up. “I think I’ll leave before the witch gets here. She doesn’t know me from a bag of beans, and I’d rather keep it that way.”
“Why don’t you join Clark and me for dinner this evening?” Carole asked. “Martha is making poached halibut and her infamous apple pudding.”
“I wish I could, but I’m so backed up with orders, I’ll probably be working through dinner. Oh, I forgot to mention that I’m nearly finished with the alterations on your satin beach pajamas. I made the trousers slightly wider than you normally wear, but it’s all the rage now. I can deliver them to you tomorrow.”
“Let me swing by and pick them up. I don’t need them until the garden party I’m having here on Thursday, and I have a ton of errands to run before then. You’re coming to it, aren’t you?”
Vivian grabbed her towel. “I wouldn’t miss it.”
“It starts at four o’clock. Make sure you bring Bella with you. Gloria’s daughter, Suzanne, offered to watch both her and Tricksy. I’m going to set up a little indoor play yard for them, so they don’t get trampled on by the crowd of guests.”
“Bella would like that.”
Carole eyed her. “I know you too well, Viv. I see that look on your face, and I can almost hear your mind spinning with ideas. Don’t you dare do anything else foolish, at least not without me.”
She went over and hugged Carole. “We’ll talk later. I’ll see you on Thursday, John. Come along, Bella. Time to go home.”
After Vivian changed into her lavender suit jacket and skirt in the bathhouse, she and Bella walked to the carport. Vivian tossed her swim bag in the back seat of her convertible Renault and lifted Bella into the passenger seat. Then she drove southeast toward downtown Los Angeles instead of heading directly to her boutique.
The breeze tousled her chin-length blonde curls and filled her lungs with fresh air. It felt as exhilarating as her dip in the pool, although Carole was right. Her mind was spinning with ideas, or maybe schemes, as she struggled to determine her next steps in finding out who murdered George.
After what happened at Bunker Hill, it crossed her mind that the whole incident at the drugstore might not have been a random hold-up. She never considered inquiring about the owner who also died that night. Perhaps he was the gunman’s target, and poor George was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Then there were the two witnesses who had claimed they got a good look at Kimball running out of the store. It would be worth her while to ask them a few questions now.
A car horn honked behind her, and Bella barked. Vivian noticed the traffic light had turned green and stepped on the gas. As she drove down the road, she looked in the rearview mirror.
A man driving a fancy sports car was right on her bumper, and so close she had half a mind to tap on the brakes to get him to back off. Then she worried he might be drunk and crash into her. So, she eventually slowed down, pulled over to the right side of the road, and waved him on.
Impatiently, he downshifted his car into second gear and revved his motor, then both he and the young woman in the passenger seat laughed as the red Jaguar sped around her. He tooted his horn again, and the woman yelled, “Toodle-oo, honey!”
Vivian recognized both the car and the driver. “Preston Stone...it figures.” She rolled her eyes and continued driving.
Along the way, she stopped to pick up a bouquet of daisies at the florist shop, and upon reaching her destination, she parked in the grass alongside the tall wrought-iron fence surrounding Evergreen Cemetery. She carried the flowers with her, and she and Bella strolled through the open gates.
The groundskeeper was trimming the hedgerow by the stone chapel and tipped his hat in greeting. Bella started growling at him since she didn’t trust strangers, but Vivian hushed her and wished the groundskeeper a good day. She could hear the chirping goldfinch and warblers even before she saw them fluttering from branch to branch in the orchid tree beside George’s grave.
She stopped short several feet away.
There were at least two dozen fresh-cut red roses wrapped in a wide pink ribbon lying on the ground beside the engraved granite stone.
Bella went over and sniffed the roses while Vivian glanced around the cemetery. There was only one other person in sight besides the groundskeeper. A gentleman was standing beside another grave a distance away with his head held down and his hands folded in front of him.
Vivian looked at the red roses again and couldn’t imagine who left them here. No one ever had before, except for Becca, but she’d been out of town for the past week. Certainly, Ruth wouldn’t have made the trip from Encino all by herself. At the funeral, she’d made it known that she only attended for her daughter’s sake.
Hesitantly, Vivian moved forward, staring at the red roses. She bent down to place her daisies on the other side of the stone and said a silent prayer. Then she closed her eyes and tipped her head back.
“The witnesses were sure Elliott Kimball ran from the store that night, George, but they were wrong. It wasn’t him. I don’t know how I’m going to do it, but I promise you, I won’t rest until I find out who pulled that trigger.”
She swallowed hard and looked down at the grave, but all she saw were the red roses.
